COURTESY and curiosity are very often at variance. With a hurried apology, Lorraine had been shown into a large, gloomylooking apartment, where he was left to his own thoughts and a small lamp. The moon, now at its full, shone directly into the room, shedding a sad and softened light, which somewhat concealed the ravages of time, or what seemed the work of that even worse spoiler-man. The floor had been paved with alternate squares of different colored marbles; it had been dilapidated in many places, and the vacancies filled with common stone. The panels of the wall were of various and beautiful woods inlaid in fanciful patterns, while the cornices and divisions were of marble carved exquisitely, and the ceiling had been painted to resemble a summer sky. There was now scarcely a space uninjured: the cornices were broken away; the panels had initial letters and uncouth faces rudely cut upon them; and on one side there was a number of small round holes, such as would be produced by a shower of shot, and a few larger ones that indicated bullets. The roof was smoked and scorched; and two pictures hung at one end, or rather their frames--for a black and smouldered canvass showed that the fire had destroyed the work of the painter.

Still, there were signs of human habitation, and some of female ingenuity. At the upper window, a fine old vine had been carefully trained both inside and out, till it served the purpose of a curtain. Near it was a highbacked chair,

covered with embroidered silk, whose rich bright colors showed it had but lately left the skilful hand of its worker. The floor beneath was spread with matting of the fragrant grass of the country: beside stood a small table of inlaid wood, and a cushion was at the feet, also worked with embroidered flowers. Against the wall were hung two or three crayon drawings: the moonlight showed the upper one to be a Madonna-and child-the others were hidden by the shadow of the vine leaves which fell directly upon them. A crucifix, made of black oak-a few shelves, which seemed crowded with books-a case, which appeared, from its shape to contain a lute or guitar-and two or three small chairs, of the same dark wood, stood near; but the rest of the room was utterly unfurnished.

The destruction wrought by time never oppresses the spirits as does that wrought man. The fallen temple-the mouldering tower, gray with moss, and. stained with rain,—seem but to have submitted to the inevitable doom of all; and the ruin time has made, time also hallows. But the devastated home and perished household-man's sorrow following fast upon man's guilt-tells too near a tale of suffering. The destruction in the one case is gradual and far removed from us—in the other, it may be sudden and fall even on our own home. War, even in the distant battle of a foreign land, is terrible and sorrowful enough; but what is the agony of blood shed in the far warfare to that poured at our own doors, and quenching the fire of our own hearth!

Edward paced the room mournfully: he gazed on the slight remains of taste which had turned wealth to beauty. But the most touching part of all, was to mark the effort that had been made to restore something of comfort and appearance. He thought of the beautiful face he had seen for a moment-it looked very young to have known much of suffering. The door of the room opened, and the appeared, bringing in supper; and the little table was soon negro spread. There was a flask of light wine, a melon, some bread, and fried fish. And with all the volubility of his race, Cæsar explained, that the ladies sent their excuses, and that tomorrow they hoped to make him personally welcome.

A solitary supper is soon despatched. The negro then showed Lorraine to his sleeping room, almost deafening him with apologies. It is a good sign when servants take

the credit of their master's house so much to heart. An immense room, and a gigantic bed, with dark green hangings, were gloomy enough for either ghosts or banditti, to whichever terror the traveller might most incline.

But a

bright wood fire drew at least round itself a cheerful circle, within which Lorraine found he was to sleep. The floor had been laid with heath and goatskins, and on them more comfortable bedding than a traveller ought ever to consider necessary. The huge green bed was evidently too old and mouldy for use.

Considering that it was near one, and that he had ridden some thirty miles, Edward might be excused for sleeping soundly, even, as the newspapers say, "under circumstances of the greatest excitement." He was awakened by the glad light of the morning sun pouring full into his chamber, and showing the past luxury and the present desolation by which he was surrounded. The floor, the wainscoting, were of mahogany-the walls were hung with the finest tapestry-and there were occasional spaces in which large mirrors had been set: but the mahogany was rough and discolored, the tapestry rent and faded, and the mirrors either wholly gone, and their places filled by matting, or by fragments smashed and shivered in every direction. The floor near the window was stained as if by heavy and long continued rain; and the casement was now repaired by different kinds of coarse glass, and the one or two larger openings by slips of wood.

The view from the window was splendid. On one side, a dense wood of oak and cork trees spread its impenetrable but beautiful barrier; on the other, an undulating country showed every variety of vineyard, heath, and grove the vines emerald in their green-the orange groves, whose flowers, mingled with the wild thyme on the heath, scented the dew, which rose like a cloud of incense, silvery and fragrant. Gradually the mist cleared away, the distant mountains came out in full and bold relief, and the winding river grew golden in the sunshine.

Edward was leaning from the casement, when Cæsar made his appearance with information that Donna Margaretta waited breakfast. He followed the old man into the room where he had been the night before, and seated in the armchair was the lady whom his young companion addressed as her mother. With the first word she spoke, her guest recognised that peculiar insular accent which

10

none but a native of England ever acquires. We rarely pay much attention to what neither concerns nor interests us; and Edward had forgotten that Don Juan had married an Englishwoman. She was a slight girlish looking creature, with fair hair nearly concealed by the veil which was drawn round her head like a hood, but which in its simplicity rather added to her very youthful face-there was something of the grace of childhood with which she bade a countryman welcome "under any circumstances," slightly glancing at the dilapidated room :-" Circumstances of which a native of your fortunate land cannot, and therefore will not, I hope, judge," said a low sweet voice, in good but foreign English.

Lorraine turned to the speaker, and recognized his last night's companion. Their eyes met for a moment: in hers there was a singular mixture of timidity and decision, of appeal and yet dignity. She blushed deeply, but momentarily, and her features instantly settled into an expression, calm, almost cold; as if any betrayal of emotion were utterly at variance with long habits of selfcontrol. Edward had seen beauty often, and seen it with every possible aid; but never had he seen beauty so perfect, yet so utterly devoid of extraneous assistance. She wore a loose black stuff dress, up to the throat, and the folds simply gathered by a girdle round the waist; yet a more symmetrical figure never gave grace to a silken robe. The swanlike neck nobly supported the finely shaped head, round which the hair was bound in the simplest manner. The features were of the first order: the high forehead, the oval of the face, the short, curved lip, gave the idea of a Grecian gem; and the clear pale olive, unbroken by color-a melancholy, almost severe expression of thought, produced also the effect of the more spiritual and intellectual beauty of a statue rather than a picture. The eyes were peculiarly large, beautiful in form and color; of that rare deep, soft black; thoughtful rather than animated; quiet, downcast, more than expressive; but it was not difficult to imagine that, when their midnight depths were kindled, it would be the flashing of the lightning. There was something sad in seeing youth such a contrast to itself a face whose beauty only was young.

With a bright changeful color, a mouth whose smiles were in unison with the bright clear blue eyes, the mother almost seemed younger than the daughter. Donna MarVol. II.-8

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ROMANCE AND REALITY.

garetta's dress, though it was black, showed more of personal adornment. The material was a rich silk. The ends of the veil, drawn over her head, were embroidered. with silver; she had long gold ear rings; to a rich and large gold chain was suspended a cross set with precious stones; and over the arm of her chair hung a rosary of agate beads. Another contrast was, that, though Beatrice's little hands were as exquisitely shaped as her mother's, they had not the same delicate white which shows the hand has known no ruder contact than a silken thread, a lute string, or a flower. Moreover, the contrast between her throat and face showed that Beatrice was somewhat sunburnt; while her mother's cheek was fair as one

"No wind has swept-no sun has kiss'd."

They drew round the breakfast table, which was as neat as if it had been prepared in England. There was chocolate, new milk, honeycomb, with its liquid amber droppings fragrant of a thousand flowers, a small loaf, and a little basket of green figs. Lorraine observed that, while the rest of the meal was served on the common earthenware of the country, Donna Margaretta's cup was of exquisitely painted china, and placed on a small silver stand wrought in filagree.

The meal passed cheerfully, even gaily. If Beatrice was silent, and seemingly anxious, her mother appeared to be even in high spirits. Delighted to see a countryman of her own, she asked a thousand questions. The sound of an English voice and English words carried her back to her childhood; and the birds and flowers she had then loved now rose uppermost in her recollections. She often alluded to her husband-said he would soon be homeand repeatedly dwelt on the pleasure it would give him to see an Englishman.

Breakfast was scarcely finished before she rose, and asked Edward to accompany her to her garden. "It is just like an English one."

"It is very hot, dear mother-had you not better stay in the house ?"

"There now-when my garden is so cool. You will go, will you not?" said she, with an air of pretty childish entreaty, to Edward. "We won't take you Beatrice."

Beatrice rose, and, calling the old black servant, spoke